Surrender (Harris Brothers Book 4)

by Amy Daws

  My voice quakes. “That was a crazy night.”

  “A crazy night I want to repeat with you.” The sincerity in his gaze is pure. “Can you see yourself doing that on a regular basis?”

  “That’s really what you want?”

  “Very much,” he husks, a vulnerability clouding his eyes and drawing me in like a moth to a flame.

  “So this would just be a casual, friends with benefits thing?” I ask, wanting to ensure I have all the facts.

  “Friendly friends,” he replies. “Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  I clear my throat. My tight, constricted, reactive throat. “But you’d still be my client?”

  “Of course,” he replies flippantly. “None of that will change.”

  I swallow slowly. “But I have responsibilities, Gareth. Things I can’t be away from.”

  “So do I,” he argues. “It’s football season. I’m busy with training, matches, media. You know my schedule is mental. I’m not asking for seven days a week, Sloan.”

  “What are you asking for exactly?”

  He shrugs. “Whenever we’re both free.” He makes it sound so simple.

  It’s not simple for me, though. I’m a mother. I have a child. A child whom I only get to see every other week.

  It’s then that the most obvious realisation strikes me. Why didn’t I think of that before? Gareth can brighten my weeks of darkness. My days when all I do is obsess over Sophia and what Cal is or isn’t doing with her. Instead of slipping into a state of depression, I can spend some of my free time with Gareth. It’s like Zumba, but I get to make up all the moves!

  My face heats from the notion that I may be saying yes to this craziness. “Where would we do this…freedom?”

  His eyes narrow as he retreats into thought. “I train in Carrington Tuesday through Friday, so I could come to your place after—”

  “No!” I nearly scream, picturing Freya on the couch squealing over Heartland while Gareth asks me to spank him. Oh my God, would he let me spank him?

  “My place then?” he asks, eyeing me speculatively. “I just assumed since I live an hour from Manchester, you’d prefer something more central.”

  “Your place is perfect.” I force a smile and glance around his home, curious about all the rooms I haven’t seen yet. It’s far from Manchester. It’s far from reality. It’s ideal. “But we’re going to need rules or something,” I rush out. “I need to know what kind of expectations you have. How far we’ll go.” My face heats from the naughty thoughts making their way out of the dark crevices of my mind. I’m picturing dungeons, and sex hotels, and weird clubs. I’m certainly not equipped for that kind of lifestyle.

  “You don’t think we can just figure it out as we go?” he asks with a pleasant smile. “I don’t really have any expectations here, Sloan.”

  “Okay, but I’d like to do some research. I’m not very experienced, Gareth. I mean, for God’s sake, I haven’t even kissed a man in…” I pause, cringing over the fact that I can’t remember the last time Cal kissed me. “A long, long time.”

  “You don’t need to do research to remember how to kiss, Sloan.” He leans across the table and hits me with all his rugged scent and charm. “I can refresh your memory right now.”

  I lick my lips and stare down at his perfect pout of a mouth. God, it would be incredible to kiss him. To seize his lips with mine and know exactly what he tastes like.

  The thought makes my blood run cold. This isn’t about a connection. This is about sex. I missed out on casual sex in my twenties by getting married and having a baby. This is my chance to make up for it. I don’t want to screw it all up by getting feelings involved.

  The idea of kissing Gareth feels very personal. Very real. Very relationship-like. I don’t need a relationship. All I need is a distraction to survive my weeks without Sophia.

  “No kissing,” I blurt out. It worked the first time we hooked up. Surely it will work again.

  His eyes narrow. “None?”

  “Not on the mouth.” I blush.

  “Why?” He looks agitated.

  “Because it’s too intimate,” I explain, knowing the complications that kissing would cause. “I have a million other things on my mind, so I can’t have feelings getting in the way.”

  He looks back and forth between my eyes like he’s searching for something, then shakes his head and sits back in his chair. “You know what? That’s fine. I want you to make all the decisions, so whatever you say is fine with me.”

  This makes me smile. “Then it’s settled.”

  “It’s settled.”

  After a significant pause, I stand to leave and Gareth follows me to the door. He nearly leans in to kiss my cheek goodbye, but thinks better of it and pulls back. “Can I kiss your cheek?”

  Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Are we starting this now?”

  He braces his hand on the doorframe, propping himself like a fucking model doing a cover shoot. “I don’t see why not.”

  I straighten my spine and give him a simple nod. “Yes, you can kiss my cheek.”

  He leans in and his chuckling breath is warm on my skin. His lips brush against my jaw and linger for a beat as he inhales the area behind my ear. “The ball is in your court now, Treacle.”

  I take a moment to marvel over that fact.

  Control.

  Complete and utter control.

  It feels pretty damn good for a change.

  AT TEN O’CLOCK, MY PHONE vibrates on my nightstand, indicating a text message has come in. I mute the television and reach over, swiping my thumb across the screen. I can’t hide my smirk when I see Sloan’s name.

  Sloan: Are you expecting me to be a dominatrix?

  Gareth: No.

  Sloan: Because I don’t want to be like that.

  Gareth: Have you been researching online?

  Sloan: Yes, and I’m not cut out for this. I just got done watching some really disturbing porn, and I’ve come to the conclusion that you should find someone else.

  Gareth: I don’t want anyone else and I don’t want what you’re watching. I just want you.

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: So you don’t have expectations of me being one of those women in a corset with a bullwhip, wrapping your dick in a leather chastity belt?

  Gareth: I’d prefer not.

  Gareth: I just want you to be free. You’re trying to label what we’re doing, and that’s not what this is about.

  Sloan: Well, I’m trying to figure out what you want.

  Gareth: I want what you want.

  Sloan: I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WANT.

  Gareth: Yes, you do. Think back to that night we were together. What did you like about it?

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: I liked seeing you touch yourself.

  Gareth: I liked having you watch me touch myself.

  Sloan: Why?

  Gareth: Because I liked pleasing you. Pleasing you pleased me. It’s a full circle act, you see. Did you like having the control?

  Sloan: Yes.

  Gareth: Why?

  Sloan: Because I’ve never had control before. It made me feel strong. I don’t feel strong often.

  Gareth: See? You’re getting this.

  Sloan: Why did you like it?

  Gareth: …

  Gareth: …

  Gareth: Because it allowed me to not be the person everyone depends on. It let me forget all the rubbish in my head and just feel. So much of my life has been tied to my past and my future. Having you in charge helped me stay in the present.

  Sloan: What happened in your past?

  Gareth: See, that’s a question someone would ask if they were in a relationship.

  Sloan: OMG, you’re right! Don’t tell me!

  Gareth: Don’t worry. I won’t.

  Sloan: So you really have no expectations?

  Gareth: None, except that I want you.

  Sloan: …

  Sloan
: …

  Sloan: Gareth, why do you want me?

  Gareth: …

  Gareth: …

  Gareth: I want the side of you that you don’t show to anyone else. You’ve shown it to me once and I can’t get it out of my head.

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: …

  Sloan: If I agree to this, no one can know.

  Gareth: Okay…

  Sloan: I mean it. I don’t want to end up in the papers or have people know that I’m sleeping with a client. I have a reputation to uphold. Can I trust you to keep our relationship completely private?

  Gareth: Sloan, you know me. Don’t lump me in with all the other footballers you work with. Trust me when I tell you that what happens between you and me stays between you and me.

  Sloan: Will you be home at 5:00 tomorrow?

  Gareth: Absolutely.

  Sloan: Okay, I’ll see you then.

  Gareth: I look forward to it.

  I set my phone back on my nightstand and flick the TV off, far more interested in thoughts about Sloan than football recaps. I lie back, hands behind my head, staring at the ceiling and realising that she is the first woman I’ve been excited to spend time with in years. And that’s a crazy thought.

  It’s not that I have a problem feeling attracted to women. The truth is, I think the female body is a stunning fucking sight, and I could get hard just thinking about Sloan naked beneath me. But the pressure to connect with women on a personal level has never been something that I’ve wanted. I’ve always envisioned myself as the terminal bachelor, fulfilled by my siblings and their families more than ever wanting something of my own. I don’t see myself having kids. Someone who looks to me every day for comfort, for help, for guidance…That’s a lot of bloody pressure.

  The second someone begins sharing personal shit with me is the second they realise how much I’m constantly holding back. Hell, I barely talk to my siblings about personal shit. I help them with their problems, but I don’t need their help with mine.

  So I’m grateful that I’ve found someone whom I can consider a friend and dive into this arrangement with clear boundaries and expectations. There’s something about Sloan that makes me certain she won’t fall for me. She has a wall around her heart, and that’s something that will work very well in our situation.

  Feelings can’t be part of this arrangement.

  Sloan on my doorstep in a beige trench coat evokes fantasies beyond my wildest dreams. Her sheepish smile desperately makes me want to kiss her, but I know that is an important limit for her, so I will respect it. The fact that she’s here at all is a victory in and of itself.

  “So I have an idea,” she says, entering my home and dropping her small bag on the floor in the foyer. She bends over to rummage inside of it, then stands with a small fabric tape measure in her hand. “I’m going to fit you for a suit.”

  “You’re going to what?”

  “But first, do you mind that I brought some wine?” she asks, her eyes wild and her tone slightly out of breath as she stuffs the tape measure in her pocket.

  “Erm, no. I won’t have any, but I don’t care if you do,” I reply regretfully. I should have been prepared for this and bought some for her.

  “Good,” she replies and bends over again to dig in her bag. She holds a bottle of white out for me to take.

  “What else have you got in that bag?” My eyes are wide and wondering.

  “Never mind that,” she states firmly. “Open this for me.”

  I pull my lips into my mouth to suppress my grin at her bossy tone. “Yes, madam.”

  “Oh my God, don’t call me madam,” she balks, following me into the kitchen just past the formal dining room where we decided to embark on this crazy new sexual arrangement.

  “Well, what should I call you?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and eyeing her stiletto heels appreciatively. God, I want to know what she’s wearing under that coat so badly, I’m not sure I can focus on adult conversation.

  “I like Treacle.” Her voice is soft and contemplative as I set the bottle on the large island counter.

  I make quick work of opening the wine and grab a stemless wineglass out of the cupboard. “Treacle it is.” I smile as I pour some of the golden liquid into the glass and hand it over to her. Our fingers brush when she takes it from me, and her sharp intake of breath doesn’t go unnoticed. She’s extra sensitive tonight. This should be fun.

  “So this concept of ours is simple,” she states, drinking her wine and staring off into the distance as she speaks. “I tell you what to do and you do as you’re told.”

  “Sounds about right.” I hold back an amused chuckle.

  “This isn’t true BDSM. This is just…escapism. Or what you called it. Freedom.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That means every time I come out here to visit, we will be liberated from our real lives. We will leave our personal lives at the door and only focus on the sex.”

  “Sounds good to me,” I reply, my eyes falling down to her pointy black stiletto pumps. What if she’s naked under there? Fuck me, it is going to be really hard to give her all the power.

  “And I’m in charge.” Sloan’s words sound like they are trying to convince herself more than me.

  “That’s exactly what I want,” I reply, eyeing her speculatively. “Is that still what you want? You seem nervous.”

  “Yes!” she exclaims, her eyes wide and urgent. “I mean, it’s what I want. I got myself all pumped up on the drive out here. This is going to be fun, like role-playing. But instead of being a character, I’m the director!”

  I chuckle at her enthusiasm. Seeing the spark in her eyes is reward enough for giving in to her desires and making mine completely secondary. This is a total transformation from the woman I’ve grown to know the past few years. She’s embracing something for herself for once and the anticipation of seeing her really sink into it might just kill me.

  “Let’s get on with it then, turncoat.”

  She frowns at my comment. “Did you just make a joke?”

  I frown back. “I make jokes.”

  “When do you make jokes?”

  “Okay, I’m not a standup comedian, but I’m not Mr. Serious.”

  “No, you’re Mr. Submissive.” She smirks, then bites her lip.

  “If you start to call me that, Sloan, I swear…”

  “I want you to fuck me,” she barks, setting her glass down on the counter and widening her stance with determination. She’s a striking vision of power and command, like a real-life Wonder Woman.

  My body’s reaction is immediate. “Anywhere in particular, Treacle?”

  She smiles. She likes when I call her that and I so want to please her. “In your closet.”

  I bite my lip and, fuck me, I think I’m already getting a little bit hard. “Your command is my wish.”

  “Shut up before I spank you.” She giggles and cringes at her words, like she’s trying them on for size and is not quite sure if they fit yet. It’s pretty much perfect.

  I shoot around the island and toss her over my shoulder. “Promises, promises.”

  She gives my arse a hearty smack as I take her upstairs and relish in the fact that this entire messed up arrangement is already ten times better than I imagined.

  Oh my God, I’m getting horny just thinking about his glass enclosed closet, never mind the fact that his ass is rock-hard under the tight jeans he’s wearing. I’ve been fantasising about the closet in Gareth’s bedroom since the first time I saw it. It’s a damn shame to waste it on a man. I could make the area sparkle.

  Gareth doesn’t stop to flick any lights on in his room. He just continues to carry me up into his elevated closet that overlooks his giant bed. I hope to make good use of that piece of furniture eventually.

  He sets me down on my feet. We’re both breathing heavily, but I don’t think it’s from the exertion of him carrying me up the stairs. The blue rope lighting has set the scene immediately, and my finge
rs itch to touch him. He’s dressed in another one of his classic white T-shirts that shows every bulge of his muscles, and a tiny smattering of chest hair peeks out the V neckline. I want to do so many things to him, I’m not sure where to start.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit, losing some of my earlier bravado.

  “Don’t be,” he replies, bringing his warm hand up to cup my cheek. His hazel eyes are dark and his brow is serious as he stares into my eyes. “You know how to do this, Sloan. You’ve done it before. Just think about what inspired you last time.”

  I close my eyes and flashes of my entire life play on the backs of my lids. So many choices have been made for me. From the moment I peed on that stick, to the realisation that Sophia wasn’t a healthy baby, to the day Cal told me we were moving to England. The divorce. The shared custody. Cal’s mother. None of my current circumstances have been initiated by me, aside from the Sophia part, which isn’t a circumstance. She is the saving grace of my entire life. I want to be strong for her. I want to rediscover my inner strength and prove to myself that I’m more than someone who simply reacts to life’s curveballs. I’m in control of the pitch.

  “Kneel, please,” I state, my voice sounding like a stranger.

  Gareth fails to conceal his pleased smirk and drops down on his knees. The long columns of his thighs are extraordinarily thick beneath the tight stretch of his jeans. Soccer legs. Sexy soccer legs that I get to do things with.

  My hands tremble as I finger the double-breasted buttons on my coat. Gareth’s eyes follow my movements as I slide the plastic buttons through the slips. When I open it to reveal my impulse purchase of La Perla lingerie, his expression makes the expense one hundred percent worth it.

  Gareth’s Adam’s apple moves slowly down his throat as his jaw ticks with pained restraint. The desire in his eyes is making me unsteady in my heels, like a gravitational pull sucking me in.

  Breaking my focus, I pull out my tape measure before shimmying the jacket off my shoulders. It drops to the floor with an audible thud. He takes in the violet sheer embroidered set and looks up at me in wonder, his face saying so much more than his words ever could.

  Having Sophia ruined sex for me and Cal. He was in the delivery room when she was born, and I could tell he was disturbed by some of the things he saw. And not in the cute, “Oh, he’s a guy and he’s so squeamish” sort of way. It was more the, “I’m judging everything I’m seeing very harshly” sort of way. Several months later, that notion was confirmed when we were at a party in Chicago and he made a joke that my vagina was like a crime scene after childbirth. It was mortifying and it hurt me deeply. He took a beautiful moment and turned it into a crude punchline. It hurt our sex life even more. I struggled to feel desirable, so sex became few and far between until we eventually just stopped. Then Sophia got sick and life became about something so much bigger than lack of sex and body issues.